


The Difference Between Daddies and Friends

by stargatefan_archivist



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-10-06 13:05:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10335350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargatefan_archivist/pseuds/stargatefan_archivist
Summary: SPOILERS: None that I’m aware ofCONTENT WARNINGS: none - unless you need warning that this story contains a "little Danny" segment, i.e. scenes in which Daniel appears as a young child. Flu at the SGC





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Yuma, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [Stargatefan.com](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Stargatefan.com). To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [StargateFan Archive Collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/StargateFan_Archive_Collection).

Stargate SG-1 | Gen Fanfiction | The Difference Between Daddies and Friends

##  The Difference Between Daddies and Friends

##### Written by Beth J   
Comments? Write to us at [eajhome@bellsouth.net](mailto:eajhome@bellsouth.net)

  * SPOILERS: None that I'm aware of 
  * CONTENT WARNINGS: none - unless you need warning that this story contains a "little Danny" segment, i.e. scenes in which Daniel appears as a young child. 
  * Flu at the SGC 
  * PG [HC] 



* * *

Jack turned to look at the team straggling behind him. Damn. Daniel had looked bad all day, but now Carter was starting to turn a little green. They had both been fine - all four of them had been fine - three days ago when Fraiser approved them for this mission. No headaches, muscle aches, fevers, nausea or any other signs of the flu virus that had decimated the ranks of the SGC during the last month. The duty roster had been revised so many times, the General’s aide had given up and simply posted a notice reading "If you aren’t sick, you’re on duty until further notice." Rumor had it, General Hammond was so frustrated - not to mention sick himself - that he had actually approved the memo. SG-1 counted themselves among the fortunate. Janet Fraiser had told Jack she thought the worst was over. Jack and his team figured that escaping the SGC completely on a three day mission would take them out of harm’s way while the virus finished running its course. By the time they got back, they would be home free.

He should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. Not for SG-1. The first two days out had been uneventful. They hiked in the first day. Jack wasn’t sure what they hiked "in" to. Neither they nor the UAV which preceded them detected any signs of settlement. As far as he was concerned, they were just hiking East until they arrived at a location the science members of his team deemed suitable for their studies. Second day out, Carter collected her soil, flora and water samples. Daniel explored a series of caves and determined no one had lived there in a _very_ long time, if ever. Day three was pegged for hiking back "out." A mission just long enough and uneventful enough for Jack to relax without running the risk of becoming bored out of his skull. 

Daniel had seemed subdued that morning, even after coffee. Of course, he drank only one cup which was Jack’s first clue that all was not well with at least one member of his team. Normally well able to maintain whatever pace Jack set, that day Daniel lagged behind the team from the word "go." Jack had taken to stealing backward glances, watching as Daniel turned pale, then flush, and pale again, all the time plodding behind them as though every step was a battle.

Carter had started slowing down about an hour ago. She might still make it the remaining four and a half miles back to the ’gate under her own steam if they didn’t push too hard. Daniel was another story. He hadn’t uttered a single word of complaint, but it was obvious to Jack that he was struggling. His face was flushed, his breathing labored and his footing decidedly unsteady. He had eaten both breakfast and lunch, but Jack suspected he had done so only to avoid admitting how badly he felt. If the experience of other SGC personnel was anything to go by, Daniel wasn’t going to keep that food down much longer.

"O’Neill."

Teal’c’s quiet voice reached across the several yards between he and Jack and caused Jack to look backward once again. // And here we go. // Daniel had stopped completely and was grasping a low hanging branch trying to maintain his feet. Flushed and sweating, he won the battle to stay on his feet, lost the battle to hang onto his lunch. Jack winced at the violence with which Daniel’s body retched and then spewed the contents of his stomach onto the ground at his feet. Jack took four quick steps and reached Daniel just as the younger man’s grasp on the branch failed and his knees buckled.

"Easy, Daniel." Jack guided him gently to his knees whereupon Daniel leaned forward on his hands and vomited again. Jack kept a firm grip on him and ran a hand up and down his back. So much for making it back to the ’gate.

"Teal’c."

The Jaffa’s response came from directly behind Jack and he started a bit. He looked up to see that both Sam and Teal’c had moved closer to offer whatever support they could.

"Head back to the ’gate. Let Hammond know we’re going to be late. Tell him Daniel’s sick and Carter’s getting there."

"I’m fine, sir."

"You’re sick, Carter. Don’t argue about it."

"I will return with assistance, O’Neill."

Jack simply nodded, his attention focused on helping Daniel sit back against the tree trunk. 

Daniel kept his stomach under control by sheer force of will. All he had to do was keep moving. If he could do that, they would eventually reach the Stargate . . . the SGC . . . a bed - in his quarters, in the infirmary, at home. Didn’t matter. He just had to keep moving and make it that far. He stumbled over a tree root and felt a rebellious tremor shoot through his legs as he tried to maintain his balance. He grabbed for a handhold, finding a strong branch a little in front and above him. Just as he grasped it and locked his trembling knees, his stomach revolted. All Daniel could do was close his eyes, hope he remained standing and endure the humiliation of spewing his breakfast and lunch on the ground while his team watched.

It seemed he couldn’t even manage the remain standing part. As soon as he stopped retching, the lock on his knees released and he felt himself falling. He was vaguely aware of Jack’s sudden presence, guiding him gently to the ground so that he didn’t collapse face first into his own vomit. Then he was on his hands and knees, retching again. Jack was talking to Teal’c and Sam, but Daniel didn’t pay attention. He simply leaned back against the tree and tried to forget how awful he felt. Curling up in a ball and dying sounded pretty good right now. Sweat soaked his t-shirt so that it stuck to his skin. Muscle aches shot through his arms and legs. His lungs burned as he tried to draw in air. His stomach was still making mutinous rumblings, and his mouth tasted like acid. 

Yuck. He had twenty-three languages to choose from, but "yuck" covered the situation pretty well. Always had.

**Many years earlier**

Even at night, the Egyptian heat was oppressive. On this night, no breeze blew through the open windows of the second floor apartment on the outskirts of Cairo. The dilapidated bamboo ceiling fan whirling above the bed offered little comfort to the occupants of the apartment’s one bedroom. Beneath the fan, in the room’s double bed, a husband and wife slept tangled up with one another despite the heat. A few feet away, a trundle bed held a small boy, tossing restlessly in his sleep. The night-time heat alone wasn’t responsible for his distress. The fever raging through him generated its own heat and drew out a sweat that soaked his lightweight pajamas. Even as he slept, his stomach churned, rebelling against the invading virus. He whimpered in his sleep, kicked at the sheets and rolled over. In the very early hours of the morning, his stomach contracted violently. The little boy’s small body jerked up reflexively and he woke up vomiting. When most of the day’s meals had emptied themselves down the front of his pajamas and across his sheets, he cried out for his parents.

"Mommy! Daddy!" The distressed cry woke Mel Jackson immediately. Somehow Claire was already out of bed, moving toward Danny. Mel stopped to turn on the bedside lamp before following. The odor of sweaty little boy mingled with the smell of vomit and intensified in the over-heated room. It wasn’t hard to figure out what had happened. Danny sat amid soiled sheets and pajamas crying in bewilderment. That wasn’t hard to figure out either. Danny had been sick before - what four year old hadn’t? But as far as Mel remembered, his son had never wakened in the act of being sick. The poor little guy probably had no idea what had just happened to him.

Claire’s hand pressed against Danny’s forehead, but Danny’s outstretched arms begged for someone to pick him up. It was Mel who scooped the little boy out of the bed and held him close to comfort him.

"He’s burning up, Mel."

Mel nodded at his wife, acknowledging the additional meaning behind her words. Three weeks earlier a particularly virulent strain of the flu had ravaged their dig. Those members of their crew who became ill all recovered, but only after seven or eight miserable days of being violently ill, dehydrated, and feverish. The rampant sickness prompted Mel and Claire to call a halt to their work and temporarily retreat to their city housing. Apparently the virus had followed them and caught up with Danny. 

Shivering from the fever sweat, Danny cried miserably in his father’s arms.

"Shhh, Danny. It’s all right. Mommy and Daddy are here. You’re okay."

Leaving Claire to cope with the bedding, Mel carried Danny into the apartment’s small bathroom. He sat on the edge of the clawfoot tub, cradling Danny to his chest in one arm while adjusting the water taps with his free hand. Assured that the water running into the tub was cool enough to appease Danny’s fever, but warm enough not to chill him, Mel removed Danny from his sticky pajamas and lowered him into the water. Offering quiet reassurances, Mel sponged the sweat and grime off his son’s body, letting the water wash over him in a gentle stream. Before long Danny began to shiver and reached up to be lifted out of the water. Mel wrapped him in a towel and sat for a few minutes cuddling him. Danny had lost most of his toddler roundness, but hadn’t yet stretched into the little boy length he would gain in the next year or so. For the moment, he still curled comfortably into Mel’s arms. He had stopped crying and his eyes were closed. Mel thought perhaps he had fallen asleep. He should have known better. Daniel had apparently been trying to make sense of the indignity he had just suffered.

"I got sick in my sleep, Daddy," he announced as though Mel might not have picked up on that fact.

"Yes, you certainly did," Mel affirmed.

"It’s yucky. I don’t like it."

"I don’t blame you."

Daniel snuggled deeper into Mel’s embrace and pressed his face against his father’s chest.

"I like you to hold me though."

Mel smiled, grateful that safety, for his son, was as simple as Mommy and Daddy being there to take care of him.

"Me too," Mel said, placing a gentle kiss on top of Danny’s head. "How ‘bout we get you back in bed?"

Danny didn’t answer Daddy’s question. He wasn’t sure he wanted to go back to bed. It would be all yucky from being sick on it, and he didn’t have anything to wear. But when Daddy carried him back to the bedroom, Mommy was smoothing out the bed sheets. They were clean and smelled fresh like laundry day. It was nice.

"Come here sweetheart. Let’s get some clean jammies on you."

Daddy set him down to stand on the bed with the towel still wrapped around him. He looked at the t-shirt and underpants Mommy had laid out. Those weren’t pajamas. He said so out loud.

"Those aren’t pajamas."

Mommy smiled. "I know sweetie, but you can sleep in these tonight and I’ll wash your p.j.s in the morning."

Daniel stood on the bed considering the shirt and underpants, thinking it over. He had never slept in anything except his pajamas before, but maybe it would be okay. Daddy didn’t sleep in pajamas. He slept in a t-shirt and underpants, ’cept Daddy’s were the square kind called boxes. Being like Daddy wasn’t bad. Besides, he didn’t feel much like complaining. His tummy still hurt and he wanted to sleep.

Danny let go of the towel, deciding to go along with Mommy’s plan. She smiled at him. He balanced precariously on the mattress while he stepped into the underpants. Daddy’s big hand steadied him while Mommy pulled them up. Then she pulled the t-shirt over his head and guided his arms into the sleeves.

"Okay, little Pharaoh. Time for sleep," Daddy said.

Danny giggled at the nickname - but just a little. He really wanted to lie down. He felt yucky again. He plopped his bottom down on the mattress, laid his head on the pillow and curled on his side.

"Are you going to be sick, Danny?" Mommy asked.

"N-no," he said uncertainly.

"Does your tummy hurt?"

"Kind of."

"Mel, would you get - "

"Right here," Daddy said. He took Danny’s hand and put two little orange pills into it. "Chew those up, Danny. Then you can have a drink of water."

Danny chewed the orange pills. They tasted kind of orangey too. When he finished, he reached for the cup Daddy was holding and took a drink.

"All right, little one. Lie down." Mommy brushed a hand across his forehead. Her hand felt cool and nice.

"My tummy," he said, and Mommy moved her hand to rest on his tummy. That felt good.

Daddy turned off the light and then came back to the bed and held his hand.

"Daddy, tell me a story about Anubis."

"Anubis? God of the underworld? Man with the head of a jackal who turns the dead black and ushers them to the realm of the dead? That Anubis?"

Danny nodded his head, but Mommy said, "Mel" in that voice that meant Daddy should be quiet. Daddy smiled and kissed him. 

"I don’t think that’s a very good story for four year old boys in the middle of the night. Maybe tomorrow."

"Will I still be sick tomorrow?"

"Probably."

"Yuck."

"Yuck is right. Which is why you need to close your eyes and go to sleep."

Danny’s eyes closed all on their own. He was tired. And his tummy hurt. He hoped Mommy didn’t move her hand. Her hand made it feel better. And Daddy was here . . . Daddy . . . Daddy would take care of everyth . . .

**Present Day**

. . .rything. Daddy would - Wait. Daddy? Nope. That wasn’t right.

Consciousness stole in on Daniel gently. The stifling Cairo heat lifted as a cool breeze wafted around him. The soothing whisper of his parents’ voices faded out and returned as the indistinct hum of a television in another room. Tentatively, Daniel’s waking mind sifted through other sensations. A comfortable bed, the aroma of coffee, vague recollection of a familiar voice - not his father’s - telling him to rest. Hmm, maybe he was . . . Daniel opened his eyes, blinked in the morning light and looked around.

Yep - home. Really home. Not the SGC, especially not the infirmary. He lay sprawled on his back in his own bed. Sunshine poured in through the open balcony door, and the curtains ruffled gently in the breeze. Someone else was in the apartment too, because that really was the murmur of the TV he heard. Not quite remembering why he was in bed, Daniel sat up slowly and continued to sift through the vague images in his mind. The last clear picture he had was an image of the ground on PX7-375 and how it looked as he threw up all over it.

Yuck. That’s why he was in bed. He was sick. Or he had been. He felt pretty good at the moment. Maybe it was time to try getting up, find out who was out in the living room.

// Like you really have to wonder, Jackson. Who do you think it is? //

Slowly, Daniel swung his legs over the side of the bed. He thought blearily that perhaps he should put a robe on over his t-shirt and boxers. _// ’cept Daddy’s were the square kind called boxes. //_ Daniel grinned a little at the memory, but decided to forego the robe. He felt a little warm. He stood, found he could keep his balance, and took a few hesitant steps toward the door. When his legs didn’t fold under him, he kept walking.

Jack was sitting in his favorite chair, legs stretched out on Daniel’s coffee table, reading. Apparently, the television was turned on just for background noise. Jack looked up as Daniel stepped into the room.

"He lives."

"Don’t be to sure of that," Daniel cautioned. "I’m up, but now that I am, I’m not so sure it was a good idea." Without prompting he made his way to the couch and dropped onto it, leaned his head back and closed his eyes. After waiting for the dizziness to dispel, he asked "What day is it?"

"Friday."

Daniel nodded in acknowledgment, but a moment later followed up with, "That tells me nothing." Daniel could sense Jack grinning at him.

"You got sick on Tuesday. It was late Tuesday before we got you and Carter back through the ’gate. You haven’t done much except sleep, drink water and throw it up again since then."

"Sam’s sick too?"

"Yeah. She lasted a little longer than you, but she’s got it just as bad. Last time I checked in, the friend she’s got staying with her said she’s still doing the sleep, drink, throw up thing too."

Daniel grimaced and wished Jack would quit talking about throwing up. He wasn’t entirely sure he was over the throwing up part of whatever this was and thinking about it only increased the chances that he would actually do it. He thought about changing the subject, but before he could, images from his dream reasserted themselves. Like many of his dreams, this one had been memory. He clearly remembered that summer in Cairo. It seemed as though everyone he and his parents knew had gotten sick - including him. The gentle nursing his parents gave him during those seven or eight days had been a comforting image through much of his life. He remembered both his mother and father caring for him, fussing over him. Odd that the dream had focused so much on his father’s care.

"Daniel?" Jack’s voice was soft. Daniel opened his eyes, but didn’t lift his head. "You okay?"

"I dreamed about my dad." Jack would assume nightmares about his parents’ death had troubled his sleep, but Daniel didn’t have the energy just yet to correct that perception. He knew he was right when Jack remained silent. Jack was always willing to listen when he needed to talk about that horrific moment in his life, but he never intruded, never wanted to say anything that could imply he had the remedy for that particular pain in Daniel’s life.

"A good dream," Daniel finally said. "There was a flu epidemic in Cairo when I was four. I was sick for days. My dad spent hours sitting by my bed, rubbing my stomach, rocking me, coaxing me to drink more water. He would tell me stories about Egyptian pharaohs and gods to keep my mind off how terrible I felt."

"That’s a dad thing," Jack said quietly. Daniel smiled. Yeah, Jack would know.

"I was so, so sick, but those are some of my best memories. How weird is that?"

"Not weird."

"It’s just that I knew, no matter how many times I puked up my lunch all over his clothes, he would clean me up and make everything okay again."

Jack didn’t seem to have any immediate response to that, but just when Daniel thought one or the other of them was going to fall asleep, Jack said, "Well, I’ve stopped offering money-back guarantees on making everything okay. Too expensive. I don’t rub tummies, and my limit for being puked on is three times - and you reached that sometime Wednesday morning."

Daniel chuckled. "Sorry."

"You feeling all right?" Jack asked, moving on to another topic. "Do you want to go back to bed? Eat something?"

Daniel thought before shaking his head. "Not really hungry."

Jack nodded.

"Jack?" Daniel finally lifted his head from the back of the couch and looked around.

"Yeah?"

"I don’t remember this."

"Remember what?"

Daniel waved his hand to indicate his surroundings.

"This. Coming home. The last thing I remember is collapsing on PX7-375."

"You don’t remember convincing Fraiser that, yes you were sick, but as it was nothing worse than a miserable case of the flu you didn’t require any specialized medical care and you thought you could recover just as well at home?"

"I convinced her of that?"

"Well, it might have had something to do with the fact that she was starting to feel pretty sick herself by that time."

"Janet’s sick too?"

"It’s not surprising, considering how many SGC personnel have puked on her for the last month. I’m surprised she didn’t get sick sooner. As for letting you come home, I think she just wanted to get as many people as possible out of her infirmary so she could have it all to herself and be sick in private."

"Speaking of being sick . . ."

"Gonna puke all over me again?"

"No - but I think I need to go back to bed after all." Daniel leaned forward to stand, but stopped mid-move. "Think I need some help," he said without realizing that Jack was already on his feet and reaching out a hand to pull him up.

Once on his feet, Daniel was steadier than he expected.

"I’m okay now, Jack. Would you get me some water?"

Jack headed for the kitchen as Daniel made his way back to the bedroom. He made it to the bed on his own, but the effort exhausted him. When Jack appeared with the tall glass of water, Daniel was almost too tired to sit up and drink it. His hand shook when he handed the empty tumbler back. Jack waited until Daniel had lain down and then turned to go. Daniel’s voice stopped him

"Jack?"

"Yeah?" 

"I don’t need a dad to tuck me in, rub my tummy and make everything better anymore. Just need somebody to give me a hand now and then."

"You mean somebody to get you back to the ’gate when you’ve got a temperature of 102? Somebody to haul you up eight flights of stairs because the elevator in your building doesn’t work? Somebody to hang out at your place for three days and just make sure you don’t puke out all your internal organs?"

Daniel grinned. "Sorry about the elevator thing. I don’t remember that. But, yeah, that’s what I mean."

"You’ve got that, Daniel."

**The End**

  


* * *

> July 5, 2001  
>  © The characters mentioned in this story are the property of Showtime and Gekko Film Corp.  
> The Stargate, SG-I, the Goa'uld and all other characters  
> who have appeared in the series STARGATE SG-1 together with the names,   
> titles and backstory are the sole copyright property of MGM-UA Worldwide Television,   
> Gekko Film Corp, Glassner/Wright Double Secret Productions and Stargate SG-I Prod. Ltd.   
> Partnership.  
> This fanfic is not intended as an infringement upon those rights and   
> solely meant for entertainment.   
> All other characters, the story idea and the story itself   
> are the sole property of the author.   
> 

* * *

  



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